


A Taunting of Ravens to You

by keelover



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Magic, Mates, Spoilers, Visions, Witchcraft, attempted physical assault, moon magic, present fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelover/pseuds/keelover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, plagued by uncertainty, would like to know as to whether or not he would be strong enough to survive the bite. Lydia awake, but not entirely the same after her ordeal, offers him some insight with that tricky moon mirror of hers. And what does Derek think about all of this? The hell if anyone knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taunting of Ravens to You

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentions of violence, and non graphic description of death involving unrelated characters.

Stiles sat impatiently on the cold, hard earth. Unable to control his knees as they bounced eagerly, dirt stitching into his faded jeans. Lydia shot him a look, but Stiles could only promise her so much. If he was going to keep his mouth shut, he needed another way to expel the nervous energy he had coursing through his body. A new Moon, what a terrible time to do anything.

 

“So, how does one make Moon water, exactly?” he questioned, willpower crumbling beneath him. Thirty minutes was a long time to keep quiet about anything, but especially about something as kooky and weird as Moon magic.

 

Lydia glared openly at him, something Stiles was quickly growing accustomed to. Not like it was his place to judge how she dealt with things nowadays. Stiles had a question he needed answered; however, and Lydia was apparently the person to help him. Her blonde hair spiraled down and around her narrow shoulders, face obscured by the lilac colored hood she now wore. The cloak was a new feature to her otherwise flawless appearance.

 

Stiles grimaced.

 

“Never mind. You don't have to tell me—”

 

“Three pints of water goes into a silver vessel. You place it outside on the full moon where it remains for seven hours. I did all of that last week so you could do this tonight.”

 

“You simplified that for me, didn't you?”

 

“Very.”

 

Stiles clapped his hands, rubbing them together as he said, “Okay! Let's get me bathed!”

 

Lydia's eyes went slightly wide. Her lips quirked slightly at the corner in amusement. “You don't think you're actually going to be bathed in three pints of water, do you?” she questioned.

 

“No?”

 

“Oh, my god. Kneel down on the sheet beside you. Facing the vessel, Stiles, not away from it,” she instructed, patience thin. Stiles wondered what, exactly, had happened to her. Lydia was still the same in some aspects, like turning him down at every opportunity and being really, incredibly smart, but then she was also antisocial, withdrawn from this world. Instead of math, science, and world domination, her main focus had shifted onto that of magic. With a side of world domination for good measure.

 

“Okay. I'm kneeling. Now what?” Stiles questioned. He felt ridiculous.

 

“Don't hesitate, Stiles, or this won't work. You want the answer, not me.”

 

Stiles closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “ _Okay_. Now, what?”

 

“Hold both hands above the vessel, and concentrate on purifying thoughts.”

 

“Purifying thoughts. Got it,” Stiles murmured.

 

“Imagine everything bathed in the cold white light of the moon.”

 

Stiles struggled to see, but eventually his reservations gave way, and yeah, it was a bit frightening. Everything was illuminated, so natural, just as it should be. No technology to interfere, no faces to obscure. This would work, Stiles was certain. It had to.

 

“Okay,” he said.

 

“Mentally ask that the water cleanse and purify you.”

 

“Is this a bathing ritual or a baptism?”

 

“ _Stiles_.”

 

“All right. All right.” Stiles asked himself, reached deep down in order to purify and cleanse every ounce of his being. “I'm ready,” he said.

 

“Good. Now rise, take the water and place it in a dark cool place until we can meet on the next full moon.”

 

Stiles stood, wrapping the silver trinket into a velvet cloth Lydia had handed to him prior. “Will this work?” he asked, face lax and open to her reading.

 

“Are you afraid?” she questioned, arms loosely crossed.

 

Stiles sighed, lighting the lantern Lydia insisted he should bring. A flashlight was apparently a bad thing when trying to work with nature, but wax was right on. The two walked, shoulder-to-shoulder, throughout the woods. A crow, or what Stiles believed to be a crow, fluttered high above their heads, making an abrupt noise that startled Stiles half to death. Lydia huffed a hefty laugh his way, but stiles could only shudder. Birds freaked him out. A lot.

 

“That thing still following you around?”

 

“His name is Poe, and yes, he still follows me around.”

 

“Po? Wasn't that a teletubby?”

 

“Poe, you idiot. As in Edgar Allan Poe,” Lydia clarified.

 

“Yeah, I got it. What I don't get, is _why_ it's still hanging around you.”

 

“It's complicated.”

 

“I believe that.”

 

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? Because I don't want to waste my time if you're just going to chicken out.”

 

“I'm not going to chicken out, okay? I just...need to know,” Stiles said, swinging the lantern around like a madman until Lydia snatched it from his hand.

 

“Good,” she said, an honest smile adorning her full mouth. “It'll give me an opportunity to practice.”

 

“Practice?”

 

“Branch,” she warned.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Are you going home?”

 

“Yeah. My dad'll be home soon, and he always checks in on me.”

 

“That's sweet.”

 

“Uh, yeah. You heading back to Derek's?” he questioned, slightly jealous. Of whom, exactly, he wasn't sure.

 

“Yes. I have no interest in being anywhere near that hospital or that school.”

 

“But your mom?”

 

“My mother and I have come to an agreement of sorts.”

 

“You hypnotized her!”

 

“I was just _really_ convincing, Stiles. Go home. Think about this some more, will you?”

 

Stiles moved towards his jeep, looking over his shoulder as he said, “I have thought about it.”

 

Lydia smoothed her hand down the front pleat of her floor length black dress. “People aren't really meant to step into the future, Stiles, especially their own. Time, fate, destiny...they're all fragile,” she warned.

 

“I guess we'll just have to see then, huh? I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to mingle,” Stiles responded, hanging off the driver side door.

 

“Go home, Stiles.”

 

“Night, Lydia.”

 

Stiles did go home, but he didn't fall asleep right away like he had hoped to. Instead, he laid in bed, thinking. Stiles thought about Lydia, like he often did when there was time to do so. Jackson joked that she was transforming into some crazed witch, but Jackson was also a jerk, so there was that to consider. A big, melodramatic jerk.

 

Stiles would like to think it's guilt that caused Jackson to treat her that way, to treat all of them that way, but Stiles also knew he had a way of ignoring problems he didn't want to face. Scott, on the other hand, didn't think the same way, and said as much when the two werewolves happened to be around each other. Which was, Stiles knew, a lot. You would think being a teenager filled to the brim with hormones would be torture enough, but apparently not. Stiles was certain he had done something terrible in a past life, it was his only explanation besides the fact that everything was Scott's fault somehow.

 

Lydia was barely alive when Stiles had gotten to her. Stupid Peter, and his manipulative wolf nature. In all honestly, Stiles was glad he was dead, and more than that, Stiles was glad it was Derek who had killed of him. Peter changed Lydia, and yeah, maybe she wasn't a werewolf, but she was definitely something else, something that no one could understand. No one could help her because no one knew what was wrong, and she wasn't saying anything.

 

Stiles sighed, he wondered if his closet was the best spot to place that moon water, but couldn't be bothered to actually get up and move it. Lydia, whatever she was going through aside, was ready and willing to help him. For what reason, Stiles wasn't sure. Lydia had her own reasoning, he was sure, but she had been the first one to sense Stiles' desire to know. He bit his lip, arms tucked underneath his head as his mind still whirled.

 

Then, and only after Lydia's predicament had faded partially through, did Stiles think of the question he hoped to have answered sometime within the foreseeable future: What would happen if he were to take the bite? Stiles wanted, no _needed_ , to know. Peter hadn't lied when he had called Stiles on his bluff. Stiles very much wanted to become a werewolf, but the risk, the chance that he might die was far too great for him to act on his desire.

 

Stiles wasn't afraid of death, not really. When you hanged out with wolves and a family of hunters, death seemed just around every corner, but it was something Stiles could control—in a sense, anyway. The chance that he might leave his dad behind—alone without him or his mom to keep him company and away from the bottle—it would, without a doubt, kill him. Stiles couldn't do that to him, and he wouldn't, but if he could know ahead of time, could make sure that he wouldn't go off and die, then Stiles wanted to take that leap.

 

On his own terms, of course.

 

Stiles noted that his eyes felt heavy, all of the sudden, and he was vaguely aware of what time it was thanks to his cellphone. There was only an hour left before he needed to be awake and ready for school, and it was going to take a lot of adderall for him to even slightly function for the remainder of the day. Stiles feigned sleep as his bedroom door opened ajar, resisting the urge to smile as his dad patted the top of his head before leaving him alone once more. An odd thought slipped in between his closed lids, nudging at his fading consciousness. Stiles wondered, somewhere far away and deeply hidden, as to whether or not he would be able to make Derek proud if he were to become a werewolf.

 

It's a thought he wouldn't remember come morning.

 

_____

 

 

“Do you smell that?” Derek questioned, standing upon the ledge of a weather torn cliff, shoulders raised as if to show alarm.

 

“Smell what?” Scott asked, confounded. “The cheetos Stiles had for lunch today? Yeah.”

 

“Of course you don't,” Derek growled, frustration palpable. Fifteen minutes later, both Lydia and Stiles emerged from deep within the woods. Lydia dressed in the usual garb she wore now, hood drawn down to expose symmetrical features.

 

“It seems we've got trouble boy's, and Allison,” she announced, smile perturbing in most situations now, even to Derek.

 

“What?” Jackson scuffed, neat brows raised.

 

“Are you sure you don't want to be a werewolf? You're doing better than most of this pack. Who are we kidding? You're doing more for this pack than these two _idiots_ ,” he ground out. Allison gave him a disapproving frown as she took Scott's hand into her own. Derek very nearly sneered in disgust.

 

“That's sweet, but if you bring those teeth of yours anywhere near me, I'd gut you in under five seconds, and that's a very humble estimate.”

 

Derek kept his face neutral, but he knew he shouldn't have asked her that question, even if it was in jest. What she had been through, what her mind was still enduring, no one could understand—not even him. After she had regained consciousness, the only thing she had said to Derek was that it felt like a nightmare was constantly playing behind her lids. What Jackson had described, but always there, showing her the worst of them. Derek shrugged it off, staring at his merry band of misfits, taking them all in. What was he supposed to do with them?

 

“She's right. We have a problem. Another pack of wolves are trying to move in on our territory,” he said, face forever held in a serious expression.

 

“What?” Scott squawked, arms held out like it was the worst news anyone had ever told him.

 

“Are you serious?” Stiles questioned, mouth open in disbelief.

 

“They're small, though. Only three, but they are determined,” Lydia spoke, waltzing around in a half circle.

 

“How do you know all of this?” Jackson asked, face reddened slightly. Derek didn't like or understand Jackson's disdain for her. And he would not accept it.

 

“Do you really care, Jackson?”

 

“You're right. I don't.”

 

“I'm not sure that's what she meant, Jackson,” Scott weighed in.

 

“There's no reason to be rude,” Allison added, leaving Scott's side in order to stand with the other girl. Allison was the only person Lydia allowed to touch her.

 

“ _Enough_!” Derek snapped, drawing attention back towards himself. “I don't have _time_ for your pettiness. _Any_ of you.”

 

“I didn't say anything,” Stiles whispered, eyes held to the side. He was an entirely separate issue Derek had yet to deal with.

 

“Shut. Up. Stiles,” Derek warned. “They're small, but they're looking to expand. They figure out that we're smaller than we seem, and they're going to test us. You need to be ready for that. All of you.”

 

“You mean if they find out Stiles, Lydia and I are human—”

 

“They're going to attack you. Not to kill, or to maim. The Alpha's going to want to change you. They're going to want to pull you under them,” Derek said honestly.

 

Jackson laughed. “Allison's a hunter, I think she can take care of herself. Lydia's doing whatever she's doing, but then Stiles...Let's face it,” he said as he approached the other teen with his K9's lengthening, “he's just a _coward_.”

 

“If I had the choice, I wouldn't have chosen this!” Scott defended, eyes glowing yellow as Lydia held Allison back from going to try and comfort him.

 

Jackson took another step forward, but Derek's foot coming down hard on his own halted any further movement. Derek could sense Stiles behind him, and smiled slightly. “His heartbeat didn't even falter at your weak attempt to intimidate him,” he noted, eyes tinged red as they stared Jackson down.

 

“There's a lot of stuff I might be afraid of, but Jackson's not one of them,” Stiles commented behind him, hand gripping Derek's forearm. “But don't hurt him.”

 

Derek popped a kink in his neck, removing his crushing weight from Jackson's foot. Jackson's face was left pale and lightly coated with a cold sweat. Derek would never admit that Stiles had any control over what he did as a leader, he knew what to do, how to act, but Derek very well could have killed Jackson for disobeying. Stiles always attempted to be the voice of reason, no matter how stupid that voice was, he usually ended up saying the right thing. Jackson needed to be dealt with, sooner rather than later, but Derek couldn't be bothered with him tonight.

 

“Would you say this meeting's over?” Allison questioned softly, her long hair tied back into a loose bun. While she loved Scott and had grown fond of the rest of them, Derek knew she would never be able to truly accept their world or the rules they were forced to live by. She would tough it out, and for that, Derek respected her. Somewhat. She still came from a family of hunters, one of whom was responsible for the fire that had ripped his entire world apart, and that could never be forgotten.

 

“Stiles, we still working on that calculus assignment together?” Scott asked as he and Stiles followed after Allison.

 

“Yeah, dude. Come on over, my dad's gone for the night.”

 

“You've got something to say?” Derek bit, driving Jackson to suck on his bottom lip before walking away. Pride wounded. Derek was beginning to think turning him had been a mistake.

 

“He's insecure,” Lydia announced, “ and arrogant. How that's possible—”

 

“The wolf. It's feeding off of him. You don't have to be whatever you are now to know that.”

 

“That may be true, but you're the one who refuses to acknowledge his future, and the impact it'll have on all of us,” Lydia responded, taking a seat on a rounded boulder, her little bird circling near. She watched the waxing moon with much interest.

 

“I don't believe in fate. You make your own destiny, your own choices. Nothing's set in stone,” Derek argued.

 

“Stiles disagrees,” she sang softly.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“We carried on with the bathing. Next full moon, and he's tripping feet first through the future with those ever perspiring hands of his.”

 

Derek felt a sense of unease rouse through him, a growl building in the hollow of his throat. Derek would never show any emotion besides that of being annoyed, but he doubted it would do him any good where Lydia was now concerned. Lydia, once she had returned to them, came back something dangerous. She was something Derek didn't think possible; something he didn't believe in. Derek realized then that he hadn't responded at all and that that, in and of itself, was a reaction.

 

“He can do whatever he wants.”

 

“Admit it. You're afraid he'll see what you refuse to see, what I saw, and then you'll have to face what that all means.”

 

“Let's make this very clear, you and me. I'm _not_ afraid of anything, let alone the future. I make the rules we abide by now. _I_ determine what happens.”

 

“No. You control your pack. And for right now, that means Jackson and Scott. Stiles doesn't equal into that equation. And maybe, he never will. I guess we'll find out soon enough.” Derek was finished with this conversation, it was obvious, but Lydia was already on her feet, hand raised in the air. “I'm going.”

 

Stiles might have only one question he sought to have answered, but Derek had many. “Why?” he asked, head tilted to the side to regard the young woman.

 

“Why, what?”

 

“Why are you helping him? What do you get out of all this?”

 

Lydia looked at Derek with a rather stoic face. “He tried to help me. I was looking for Jackson, but Jackson wasn't looking for me. Stiles was.”

 

“Anything else?” Derek inquired, and watched as the raven who had circled above them for nearly a half an hour dropped down upon her shoulder.

 

“Of course,” she said as she turned to leave.

 

Derek sat on the edge of the cliff, his feet moving back and forth. Face in his hands, Derek let out a pain-filled groan. He was supposed to be king, armed with a pack he could rule freely with. Instead; however, he found himself with four migraines and one headache. Maybe Allison wasn't that bad, he thought.

 

More like a sinus infection.

 

Derek, much to his chagrin, needed a counterpart. Lydia had said that role was destined to fall on Stiles' shoulders. She said that it had appeared before her in a dream, a dream she found oddly comforting. She said that Stiles would be strong, much stronger than any of them thought capable, and would carry the pack when they needed him to. Derek had bit the inside of his cheek, anger flaring as he told her that that would never happen. Derek would not, under any circumstance, transform Stiles.

 

Lydia had told him to be patient, to wait and see, and now look what he was facing. Derek would not interfere with Stiles' trip to the future, and depending on what he saw, Derek would make his choice. If he wanted to, and that was a major if. Lydia would never say it to his face or out loud, but she knew Derek worried as to whether or not Stiles' personality would morph like his own. And that, it seemed, was Derek's biggest set back.

 

Never mind the fact that Derek didn't even _like_ Stiles.

 

 

____

 

 

“Why does this have to be outside, again?” Stiles asked, arms wrapped around himself for a false sense of warmth.

 

“Because, Stiles, if we placed the mirror inside, the light would refract through the window, causing the image to distort. Sit down with the mirror, and stare at the Moon reflected,” she instructed, rummaging in her bag for something Stiles couldn't see.

 

“Okay, I'm looking at it.”

 

“Good. Now imagine the mirror absorbing all of the Moon's energy for this one task. When the time feels right, take the oil I gave to you and smear it along the surface. Remember, you're going to do so with with your index finger, starting at the center of the glass and moving outward in a spiral.”

 

“Spiral. Right,” Stiles mumbled, looking into the mirror, imagining the small well rounded device absorbing all the energy that the Moon offered. Stiles held his breath, dosing a drop of oil onto the surface, index finger working outward in a spiral pattern.

 

Stiles did this slowly and quietly, his entire focus set on that one task. When he was complete, Lydia handed him a clean cloth dipped in mugwort water to clean the mirrors surface. “Okay,” he whispered.

 

Lydia remained seated somewhere behind him. “Before we do this, you need to define your goal. Don't say it out loud, think it.”

 

“Okay.” Stiles thought long and hard about what he wanted out of this little experiment. What it was he wanted to know.

 

“Define and understand your motives,” Lydia hummed.

 

'Motives,' Stiles thought. 'What motives? I only have one. I need to know if I'll live. If my dad will be all right. If I'll make a decent werewolf. If I'll make Derek proud.' Stiles took a well controlled breath. 'Okay, maybe I have more than one motive, but those are it.'

 

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and peered into his reflection, slowly letting go. Stiles could faintly hear Lydia as she chimed a spell, “ _I wish you well as now we part. I follow what is in my heart. Each must walk our separate way. Our union is over this day._ ” It was a parting spell, and Stiles didn't understand what it had to do with envisioning his future, but said nothing and focused instead.

 

Stiles felt his body grow heavy and limp, his limbs felt as though they weighed a ton. An almost searing sensation ripped through him, and it felt as though his soul was trying to flee. Meat torn from the bone. Stiles felt as though he had tripped through a rip in time, deep through both darkness and light, before reaching his destination. The lightheaded feeling was nothing compared to the upset of his stomach, he felt as though all of his organs had been rearranged. Stiles opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings.

 

Stiles very nearly jumped out of his own skin. The jeep, his jeep, that he sat in was still similar in appearance. Apparently, he was just as attached to it in the future as he was in the present. With shaking hands, he pulled down the visor, taking in his appearance. Stiles was surprised to see that his hair was grown out passed his chin, natural curls framing his slightly more matured face.

 

Stiles played with the buoyant strands for a while, completely distracted. When he looked back, he noticed three duffel bags filled to the brim with sloppily folded clothes. Stiles knew what this all meant, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. At first. When Stiles hopped out of his jeep, he could hear small children playing in the snow, but when he looked around, no children were to be found.

 

“Jimmy, stop hitting your sister with snowballs! You're making her cry!” Mrs. Henderson yelled, but Mrs. Henderson didn't have a little girl, and she lived nearly two streets over.

 

“Oh. Holy crap,” Stiles whispered, nearly choking on his glee. The smell of garbage was intense, and Stiles nearly threw up as he took a better look at his house. The same plastic reindeer and lights decorating the roof. It was good to see his dad hadn't grown an imagination in the short time that had past.

 

Stiles turned his head and noticed that his Jeep didn't appear as tall is it should have. For nearly five minutes, he determined that it had shrunk, or that it was a new vehicle all together before realizing he was taller. Stiles studied himself as best as he could with the three layers of clothing draped around his frame. Stiles was taller! Not only that, but he was leaner and with a quick test of his hand, even had muscle.

 

The smell of garbage caught him again, where it was coming from, Stiles didn't know. With unsteady legs, Stiles trudged his way through snow to his front door. When his dad answered, it took Stiles everything he had in order not to cry. He hugged his father with a strength he didn't recognize as his own, nearly bringing him off of the ground. His dad laughed at him.

 

“You plan on changing for dinner?” he questioned once they were inside, the corners of his mouth tugged into a withered smile. It was hard seeing that his dad had aged, too.

 

“What?” Stiles nearly shrieked, so absorbed with noticing every little detail.

 

“You okay, Stiles? I know it's been difficult, what with you being away at school and all, but I'm real proud of you. Being able to keep that part of yourself under wraps must take a lot of strength.”

 

“What?”

 

“What? Stiles, are you sure okay?”

 

“Oh. I mean, yeah. I mean, I do okay. Just really happy to see you dad. You have no idea,” Stiles said, hugging his father for the fourth time.

 

“All right. Well, I've missed you, too. We're going to deep fry a turkey again this year. I promised Melissa that what happened last year wouldn't happen again. That's partly why we're having dinner here and not at her place. She's bringing all of the baked goods, though. Scott eats almost as much as you do, so she's bringing backup.”

 

“Scott's mom is coming?”

 

“Yes, Stiles. Remember? We've gone to her house the past two years, and now she's coming over here with Scott and maybe Allison, if she doesn't stay the entire night with her folks. We have a lot to do before then, and are you sure you're okay, son?”

 

“I'm just really tired. I should have stopped more often...ate more. Should have snacked...more often, you know? Maybe.”

 

“Berkeley's a bit of a drive, but you've done it before.”

 

“Berkeley,” Stiles whispered, his eyes wide. “I go to Berkeley?”

 

 

“Yes, Stiles. Are you—”

 

“I'm really great, dad! I'm alive, you're alive, what's not to be okay about? And we're going to deep fry a turkey in a couple of days with Scott and Scott's mom, so things can only get better.”

 

Stiles' dad began to set the table, but instead of the usual two plates, there were five. Stiles frowned slightly, ready to ask his dad about it, when he heard a vehicle pulling up into the driveway. “Oh, good,” his dad mentioned. “They're on time.”

 

“Who's here?” Stiles asked.

 

“Who do you think? I hope Derek decides to take a decent picture this time. I'll threaten to shoot him if he messes up another camera of mine,” he grumbled, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

 

“Derek, dad? What are you talking about?” Stiles questioned, but would not get the answer to that question anytime soon.

 

Lydia's voice cut through his ears, piercing through the veil that led directly to his mind, and left him squirming on the hard ground. Stiles sat up suddenly, too quickly as he covered both his eyes with the back of his hands. God, did he feel sick. “Wait! Send me back! I was _so_ much hotter,” he protested, the spots in his eyes serving only to disorient him further.

 

Lydia ordered him to stop moving, placing a warm blanket around his shoulders. “So, I see you made it back,” she greeted.

 

“I did. It was weird. My hair was long, I was taller. I could smell things, hear things. I could hear little kids playing two streets down. I was in college. Well, I was visiting from there anyway.”

 

“Anything else?” she asked, curious.

 

“My dad and Scott's mom...I think they were, you know, together. Which _is_ not something I want to think about, oh my god!”

 

“What about the pack?” Lydia interrupted.

 

“Um, well, before you pulled me back, Derek's camaro was pulling up into our driveway. I don't know who was in it besides him, but my dad was setting five plates instead of two, so. It was weird, though,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “My dad seemed okay with Derek being around. In fact, he smiled and said that Derek needed to take a decent picture. I mean, he knew I was a werewolf, so that probably means he understood what Derek was, and yeah. I don't know.”

 

Lydia grinned form ear-to-ear. “So, what do you plan to do now that you know?” she asked.

 

“That's easy,” Stiles huffed as he awkwardly stood to his feet. “I'm gonna go find Derek so we can get this show on the road.”

 

Lydia's smile faltered somewhat, her eyes going vacant momentarily. “Good luck,” she whispered.

 

Stiles figured he didn't need it.

 

Stiles offered Lydia a ride to the Hale house, but she had promptly declined. Apparently, she had a lot to do before the full moon was over and the light of a new day ripped open the sky. Her words, not his. Stiles killed the engine, keys twirling as he let himself in. Stiles supposed Derek was out with Jackson and Scott trying to teach them, without much success, how to control themselves during such a treacherous time.

 

The Hale house was still in shambles, but it was getting better. Sort of. Stiles plopped down onto the tattered sofa, it was uncomfortable, but it was also his safest bet. An hour came and went, and still no Derek. After the second hour, and the death of his I-pod, Stiles gave up on seeing Derek until tomorrow after school.

 

With his coat in hand, Stiles opened the door and stepped out on to the veranda. A strange feeling washed over him, and as Stiles tilted his head to the side, he could make out a distinctive shape: A werewolf. Stiles froze, that wasn't Derek, Scott, or even Jackson. Stiles didn't know what to do, so he stuck to what he knew best; running his mouth. Stiles wasn't exactly known for his finesse in these sort of situations.

 

“Hey! I don't know who you think you are, sugar tits, but this isn't your house and this isn't your town!” he shouted. The wolf growled, moving closer on all fours like some sort of deranged dog. Stiles swallowed thickly, but remembered what Derek had said, and moved forward to meet him head on. Oh, it was a bad idea. It was the _absolute_ worst.

 

Stiles knew the wolf could sense he wasn't one of them, but stepped off the last step anyway. Stiles was fairly certain he was about to piss himself, but wolfie over there didn't need to know that. He just really hoped the carving of silver Allison had given him worked at a time like this. Like, really hoped. The overgrown wolf lunged forward, tackling Stiles to the ground.

 

Stiles shrieked, though he would never call it that, driving the twisted piece of silver straight into the wolf's side. The werewolf howled in agony, stumbling back as Stiles scrambled up to his feet. Stiles found it hard to breathe, the air having been wrangled from his lungs. Stiles was pretty sure there was blood, but he couldn't think too much about that. Not now.

 

Thankfully, he didn't have to. Derek came hurdling towards them, not fully shifted, but close enough to threaten the Beta into trying to run away. No such luck. Derek slammed the now human male into a tree, and if werewolves didn't have some magical healing factor or super strength, Stiles believed that would have snapped that guys spine in half. Derek, back to looking like himself, pinned the guy down, hand encased around his throat. Stiles held his breath.

 

“What do you think you're doing here?” he growled, fangs glistening. “Never mind. Go tell your Alpha, your _mate_ , that she's got her warning. Leave now, or I will _destroy_ you. And that goes for all three of you.”

 

Derek stood, breathing hard as the blonde took off. Stiles took a step towards the Alpha, and then took a step back. Derek's otherwise white shirt was caked with dirt, his hair disheveled. Stiles knew he must have appeared ten times worse. Actually, his head hurt, and _ow_ , there was blood coating his fingers when he finally reached back. Stiles figured he must have hit a rock or something.

 

“What are you doing here?” Derek questioned, turning to look at Stiles with that severe expression he always had about him.

 

“Having a mid-afternoon picnic. What do you think?” Stiles responded, voice slightly raised as he flapped his arms around.

 

“What do you _want_?” Derek snapped, twisting his hands into the material of Stiles' shirt.

 

“I want _it_ ,” Stiles answered, eyes intent, mouth on autopilot as his mind was still a jumbled mess after his latest near death experience.

 

“What?” Derek took a step back, releasing his hold as though he had been burned.

 

“I saw it. Lydia, she showed me the future, and I won't die. You biting me won't kill me. I want to do it,” Stiles said, smile to his flushed face.

 

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

 

“Huh?” Stiles whispered. Of all the possible reactions, he hadn't expected that one.

 

“No.”

 

“What do you mean 'no'?” Stiles questioned, jabbing a finger at Derek's chest.

 

“I mean no,” Derek said flatly, snatching Stiles by the wrist.

 

Stiles wasn't going to back down from this. “You said it yourself, we're low in numbers. That guy just tried to kill me! That wouldn't happen if you changed me,” he argued.

 

Derek stared menacingly at Stiles, squaring his shoulders. “I said no. Our cover is blown, so stay close. Understand?”

 

Stiles' heart dropped so low, he never thought he would find it again. Stiles snatched his wrist back from Derek's bruising grip, wounded. “Screw you,” he said, his head pounding as he stumbled all the way back to his jeep.

 

Stiles went home, took a long shower to wash away the dirt and drool that man-wolf, _thing_ , had left behind. Stiles did his best to bandage himself up, gauze and iodine went a long way, even if the iodine left his skin on fire, but maybe physical pain was okay for the moment. It helped to distract from the crushing blow that was rejection. Why didn't Derek want him?

 

Was he not good enough?

 

Unfortunately, that was more than likely the answer. Stiles could never live up to the standards set before him, not even his own. Stiles pulled his pillow over his face. Really, he just wanted to die. It sounded like the perfect plan. He didn't even have the heart to send a text to Scott about it.

 

_____

 

 

Derek stood in his demolished living room, staring out the cracked window as he waited. She would show up, she always did, at all hours of the day. The sun appeared through the leaves and snapped branches of the trees, causing Derek to flinch away. There was blood, a lot of it, coating his front yard. Some of it belonged to the Beta he had nearly dismantled, and some of it Stiles'.

 

Derek's hand balled into a fist, acknowledging the watch tucked away in his pocket. Derek was certain it belonged to Stiles, it had his actual first name etched onto the outside. Stiles was in danger, and to add insult to injury, not listening to him. That was his fault, but Derek attained he had made the right decision. The floorboard creaked, and Derek waited. It was only a matter of time.

 

“Just tell me why,” she demanded. When Derek had grown accustomed to her, he didn't know. When he had begun to debate things with her was also a mystery.

 

“I don't care what he saw. Stiles isn't fit to become one of us.”

 

“Did you even ask him what he saw, Derek?”

 

“I didn't have to.”

 

“You mean you didn't want to. He saw himself alive. He saw his dad unharmed! They were setting a plate for you. I knew the moment you told him no,” she said, voice trembling. “Would you like to know how?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Too bad. I know because I saw a different future. A terrible, horrible future, Derek.”

 

“I don't care what you saw,” he snarled, teeth sharp and crisp. “Whatever you saw, it doesn't matter! Stiles will suck it up! The pack _will_ survive.”

 

Lydia shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “It won't be fine. None of us is going to be fine, Derek. Especially not Stiles,” she whispered, boots clicking along the charred wooden floor as she left Derek alone with his thoughts.

 

Derek started the morning by placing his fist through the wall.

 

Time past slowly, and he couldn't take the heavy silence or constant doubt his mind relayed over and over again. Derek had to get away, feet carrying him in any direction they so chose. Derek stopped short when an unfamiliar scent came drifting through the air. The childish laugh made him want to rip her throat out before he even laid eyes on her. The other Alpha.

 

“Derek Hale,” she greeted, cropped ink jet black hair resting just below her adorned ears. Her lips were painted red, eyes green like emeralds. The way she dressed made her look like some sort of superhero reject.

 

“I warned that mutt of yours what would happen if you choose to stay.”

 

“Now where's your hospitality, friend? Don't you even want to know who I am, darlin'?”

 

“I don't care who you are, but you send one of your members to challenge me, _my_ pack again, and I will send you on your way with a reminder to never come back here.”

 

“I didn't send Matthew to challenge you. I sent him to challenge your suspected mate, but that's not what he is, is he? Stiles, right? We thought by the way you treated him, but he's human, and apparently disposable to boot. I knew you had a reputation, darlin', but even that seems a little cold.”

 

“Go near him,” Derek warned, “ _any_ of them, and I will put my fist through your teeth.”

 

“Cute.”

 

“What do you even want? Arizona and California have no binds. Not since the early 1600's. Your presence here is useless.”

 

“Arizona? How'd you guess that one, big boy?”

 

“If you think I haven't been keeping tabs on you since you got here, then you're as dumb as you look.”

 

“Well, darlin', this has been real fun, and we'll be seein' each other around, but it's time I went. We'll see if your reputation holds up.”

 

“You reek of desperation,” Derek sneered.

 

“And you reek of a dying family tree. The name's Gloria, by the way. You'll be hearin' it a lot.”

 

Derek let her go. The rage that boiled in the pit of his stomach only followed him as he tracked down the wayward members of his dysfunctional pack. Derek showed up in the boys locker room at Beacon Hills High School. Patiently he waited until all but Scott and Jackson remained. Their terrified expressions only served to amuse him. Apparently, putting Scott and Jackson in the same gym class at the end of the day was supposed to be a good idea.

 

“What the hell, dude?”

 

“Why do you always feel the need to do that?” Jackson yelped, towel hung low on his hips, heart racing.

 

Derek ignored him. “I'm calling a meeting. Be at my house at eight,” he said, taking a quick look around. “Where's Stiles?”

 

“We have lacrosse practice tonight,” Jackson said flatly.

 

“I think he's over at Danny's. They're lab partners, and our projects are due tomorrow. They both bailed, and I don't think they're going to practice either...like I should, too. Unless Allison does all the work, but would that make me a terrible boyfriend? Am I a terrible boyfriend?” Scott inquired, eyes squinting as Derek fought the urge to forcibly silence him.

 

“Cancel practice. My house: eight o'clock. Where does Danny live?” Derek felt his blood pressure rising. Scott was an idiot. Jackson was an idiot. Stiles was an even bigger idiot, and Allison wasn't even a werewolf. And yet, he was stuck looking after all of them.

 

“I can show you. Allison's house is on the way, she can grab her stuff and make up some excuse to her dad. I mean, he won't believe it, but that's never stopped her before.”

 

Derek nodded his head. “Fine. Let's go. And Jackson, miss this meeting and I'll kill you myself. Got it?”

 

Jackson slightly flushed, but his eyes remained hardened. “Got it.”

 

Scott awkwardly put on his seat belt. Derek didn't even bother. Scott wasn't a complete dimwit, he could sense that Derek was in a bad mood, worse than what they were all normally accustomed to. Derek shifted into gear seamlessly, gunning his way through every street. Allison was trailing behind him, but Derek didn't slow down, he was pretty sure she knew how to get to her own house.

 

Derek pulled off the side of the road, and watched as Allison drove passed them. There was no way he was going to drive any further than this, and set out to wait. Allison's dad was no where near as scary as her mom, and that was the last thing Derek needed right now. The two waited until Allison's car pulled out of her drive, signaling with her headlights that everything was good to go. Scott was probably relieved to see that Derek kept to the speed limit as he followed after his girlfriend.

 

Allison was an Argent, and no matter how furious he was, Derek wasn't stupid enough to get her injured. Well, not unless he had to.

 

“You want me to get him?” Scott questioned.

 

“Quickly,” Derek answered.

 

Ten minutes later, and Scott came out; Stiles no where to be found. Derek rolled down his window, expression far from happy. “He said he's not coming,” Scott announced, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“Did you tell him _why_?”

 

“Yes! Danny called me a distraction to higher education and kicked me out of his bedroom! His dad was nice enough to give me a cookie, though.”

 

“Get in the car, and don't move. Don't even breathe.”

 

Allison looked faintly amused as Scott sulked, but Derek didn't have time for this. For all he knew, Gloria's pack was small, like his; but well in order, unlike his. They were also older, more mature. Why didn't they understand they were all going to die unless they started listening to him? Derek grunted as he rung the doorbell.

 

If he couldn't convince Stiles, he could definitely convince Danny. “Oh, not this again. Really, two of you in a row?” Or not.

 

Stiles wouldn't even acknowledge his presence as he and Danny sat on Danny's bed, notebooks and textbooks all over the place. Danny looked at him with an impatient look, and Derek, for once, didn't know how to respond. “I need to talk to Stiles,” he said bluntly. He watched as Stiles' shoulders tensed at the use of his name.

 

“That's what Scott said, too.”

 

“It's important.”

 

“Also what Scott said.”

 

“Go away, _Miguel_.”

 

Derek's expression flattened as he grabbed Stiles by the collar of his button up shirt. “He'll be back,” Derek promised at Danny's sour expression.

 

Derek attempted to slam Stiles against the wall as quietly as one could expect to do so. There were a lot of things that Stiles did that pissed Derek off—like talking—but not making eye contact was quickly topping his list. After an intense moment of silence, Derek gripped the base of Stiles' chin, forcing the other to at least _look_ at him. The slightest of pain flickered through Stiles' eyes before simmering into cool resentment. That, Derek realized much later, was a horrible thing to see up close and personal.

 

“I had a run in with the other Alpha this morning. I don't know what her deal is, but she wants something. Eight o'clock, and you need to be at my house.”

 

“I don't need to be anywhere,” Stiles shot back, flicker and flame.

 

Derek shoved him harder against the wall, taking a quick look around to make sure they were still alone. “I don't care how you feel about this, Stiles. Not right now. Just be there,” he said, eyes zoning in on the him as Stiles turned his head away.

 

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Let me go so I can get back to Danny.”

 

Derek moved back, but took a hold of Stiles' sleeve before he could completely disappear from sight. “How's the back of your head?” he asked, face like stone.

 

“It hurts,” Stiles answered, removing himself from Derek's grasp.

 

“I found a watch in the yard. An old pocket watch. Is it yours?” Derek questioned, he had barely remembered the brass piece in his coat pocket.

 

Stiles grimaced. “Keep it,” he said.

 

 

 

“Did Danny's dad offer you a snack?” Scott questioned as Derek got back into the car. Derek merely glowered.

 

“He's not coming?” Allison questioned, face troubled as she stood outside her vehicle.

 

“He'll be there.”

 

“I don't know, he seemed really determined. And did you notice the wound he has on the back of his head? He got attacked! The scratch across his chest is deep, but not enough to change him, right?” Scott questioned, any resolve he had had before gushing out.

 

“He got attacked?” Allison spoke, alarmed. She attempted to keep her voice down, though, taking a look around.

 

Derek's grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It wasn't the Alpha who attacked him, and he's the reason we're having this meeting. We've got to act. Wasted enough time on all of this.”

 

“Is Lydia going to be there?”

 

“Probably already is.”

 

She was. The cloak was gone, replaced with a wool jacket and pair of jeans. Jackson was also there, face sullen as he stared out the window. They waited, but Stiles never showed. To make matters worse, Allison announced she needed to head home.

 

“My dad knows I'm here. If I stay, it'll only make things worse,” she reasoned.

 

“She's right. She needs to go,” Derek agreed.

 

“And do what, wait to get attacked?” Scott protested.

 

“She's fully loaded, I think she'll be all right getting home. If anything, text us.”

 

Allison smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks for understanding,” she said. It was hard to believe that a little over a year ago she had shot him, twice.

 

“He isn't going to show. How much longer until we get on with this thing?” Jackson complained, hand under his chin as he sat on the bottom step, looking rather bored.

 

“Give it a few minutes,” Scott protested.

 

Derek sighed, rubbing at his temples in a circular motion. “He's right. Stiles probably isn't going to show.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Lydia inquired, voice light and sweet, but her jaw was clenched. She was still angry.

 

“This isn't like him,” Scott said. “You said he said he would be here, and no matter how angry Stiles gets...he would never go back on something once he said he would do it.”

 

“Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do, Scott,” Derek said coldly.

 

“Oh, and like you would?” Scott argued. “You can't even stand him! You don't even listen to him! You pretend like he's not even here.”

 

Derek could feel himself losing control, and took a step back. Jackson stared at him oddly, but held his tongue. Unfortunately, Derek wasn't that lucky when it came to Lydia. The world was coming to an end, he was sure of it. Stiles, that idiot, he was going to ruin everything.

 

“Scott's right.”

 

_____

 

“So, your cousin's sort of interesting,” Danny commented. Stiles figured he must spend too much time with Jackson for Derek's previous behavior to have seemed somewhat normal.

 

“He's a complete ass, but I've got to go. I'll send you the rest of the report later tonight,” Stiles announced, shoving books and stray pieces of paper back into his backpack.

 

Danny looked up at him, lips pursed. The guy definitely had a unique charm about him, Stiles had to admit. That so totally did not help him, at all. “I know we're not exactly close or anything, but you are okay, right? Going home, I mean?”

 

Stiles smiled somewhat sloppily, letting out a weary little sigh. “Just fine, Danny-boy. Family stuff,” he mentioned as he headed out the door.

 

“Okay. You have my e-mail, Stiles! You better send me your part of project!”

 

Danny's dad was nice enough to hand Stiles a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, and he wondered why his dad couldn't bake like Danny's did. Or at all, for that matter. Stiles threw his backpack into the back of his jeep, mood declining with every passing second he was forced to realize he was actually going to the Hale House. And to make matters worse, a white dodge truck nearly side swiped him as he was backing down Danny's driveway. Jerks.

 

Stiles would have made that yellow light—he really would have—but on the off chance that it would change midway through to red, Stiles came to an abrupt stop. A horn blared behind him, and he just could not catch a break. After the second, longer abuse of their horn, Stiles turned around to get a better look at the vehicle. It was the same white truck as before. The driver stuck her hand out the window and waved at him.

 

Stiles waved back because he was just that much of a moron, apparently.

 

“Hello, _Stiles_! So nice to finally meet ya!” she greeted, K9's lengthened.

 

“Oh, damn,” Stiles said as he put his jeep into drive and sped off.

 

That was one red light and almost head-on collision down, only three or four more to go. They weren't relenting, Stiles knew that much as he weaved in and out of traffic, veering down less populated roads. Stiles very nearly crashed into a blur of blue or black, maybe even green, and he decided it was best to take this fiesta off asphalt. The Hale House wasn't too far from where he was, he knew, but another hit like that to his bumper and it really wouldn't matter. The last thing Stiles thought about before his jeep rolled over, was _how_ this wasn't supposed to be happening.

 

Thank god for seat belts. It was too bad they couldn't stop big werewolf hands from dragging him out through the busted window, though. Stiles looked up through bleary eyes to see illuminated green ones staring down at him. Honestly, the woman looked like a deranged clown with sharp claws and even sharper teeth. The hulking blonde with the tangled mess of a beard didn't look too thrilled to see him so soon again. Which, okay, Stiles had stabbed him with a large piece of silver, but he hadn't started that fight.

 

And it wasn't his fault that Derek had ended it.

 

“If we're going to do this, Gloria, it needs to be now,” the redheaded girl warned. Stiles wondered if the lip piercing had hurt.

 

“Shut it, Emily. I'm gonna have my fun with this one.”

 

Stiles coughed. “Are you going to chit-chat, or are you going to tear me to shreds? 'Cause, really, I have a lab report to half-ass.”

 

The brute of the group picked Stiles up by the front of his shirt. Stiles' feet lifted from the ground with ease, and he couldn't believe he had taken this guy on all by himself the previous evening. Stiles brought a swift kick to the family jewels, werewolf or no, that should hurt. Stiles landed on his back hard, the blonde was up and ready to tear him to shreds when the Alpha, Gloria or whatever, stopped him. The red glow of her eyes paralyzed Stiles momentarily.

 

“Play nice now, Matt,” she warned just as an arrow struck her through the abdomen.

 

She snarled, clutching at the piece of wood embedded through her. Stiles was up and on his feet quicker than he had ever been in his entire life. “Holy shit, _Allison_! Am I glad to see you, you dimpled-cheeked angel!” he shouted.

 

Allison shot off another round, this time striking the Emily through the meat of her thigh. Stiles stood behind her, trying to think of a way out of this that involved the both of them alive. He really couldn't think of one. “How'd you find me?” he questioned, running up an incline of rock and dirt.

 

“You nearly hit me!” she shouted. “I text Scott, but I don't know if he'll be able to find us!” she added, tossing a flash grenade behind them. Those were merely distractions, Stiles knew, but it was all they had. Thank god for small favors, like Allison's paranoid, werewolf hunting father.

 

“Are you _kidding_ me? If you're in trouble, he'll find us!” Stiles reassured her, running out of breath.

 

And as though Scott had heard them, he came tumbling down passed them, werewolf mode and all. Stiles, while distracted by his complete and utter relief, was tackled unceremoniously to the ground. The Alpha was now also fully transformed, and using Scott as a chew toy. Stiles kicked at the she-beast who attacked him, he needed to help Scott. How, he didn't know, but it needed to be done! Allison shot off another arrow, striking the werewolf currently attacking him through the chest, causing her to rear back in shock.

 

Jackson appeared next, tackling the only male in the other pack. If anything, Jackson was more vicious in this state than he was in human form. It was unsettling. However, Stiles didn't have time to think about that as he grabbed a way too heavy branch, and cracked the Alpha over the top of her head. She really didn't like that.

 

Like, really.

 

Gloria's claws tore deep within the flesh of his side. “ _Stiles_!” Allison screamed, launching another slew of projectiles, one of which exploded on contact. Stiles noted as he fell to his knees just how good she was at that.

 

Stiles felt as though he had been gutted. Honestly, he didn't want to become a part of Gloria's little group o bumpkins, and even more than that, he didn't want to die. If he ever saw Lydia again, he was definitely going to ask for a refund. When two very strong arms hoisted Stiles up, he lolled his head back and to the right, noticing Derek. And it was completely funny—and horrifically sad—and he must have been dying because Derek _actually_ looked concerned.

 

Stiles could feel his heart racing. The beat inconsistent. “You idiot,” Derek growled, holding him close, completely unaffected by the chaos going on around them.

 

“Hey, at least someone wanted me in their little group,” he joked, but Derek was not amused.

 

Derek sunk his teeth into the side of Stiles neck without any warning whatsoever. The bite seared through his flesh, Stiles' whole body reeled away from the sudden attack. Derek practically threw him over his shoulder, and the last words Stiles heard were those of retreat. Stiles fought to stay awake, he really did. The wounds he had suffered; however, were too severe for him to do much of anything besides succumb to unconsciousness.

 

When Stiles next came to, he wasn't alone. Lydia sat beside him in one of Derek's many fragile rooms. After all of this time, and it still smelled of smoke and littered ash. Stiles' body thrummed with an intense pain, he was different. Stiles knew he was different then, but it left a bitter, and almost numb feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lydia held his hand (startling considering the fact she hadn't touched anyone besides Allison since she woke up), and at one time, that would have meant something wonderful.

 

“Hey, you. You owe me my money back,” he joked, throat dry and lips cracked.

 

Lydia didn't respond verbally, merely began to cry. Stiles sat up, it hurt, but not as much as he expected it to. Placing a hand on Lydia's slumped shoulder (albeit a bit hesitantly), he realized he had never seen her this upset. She was strong, much stronger than most people were, and this just didn't make any sense. “I was kidding. I was only kidding. I'm sorry,” he apologized.

 

Lydia wiped the tears from her eyes, pristine cheeks flushed in distress. Stiles could hear her heart beat, even that sounded choked up and strained. Really, he hadn't meant to upset her. Stiles peered down at his naked chest, noticing the wound was fading abnormally quick on his side. Stiles also felt along his neck with shaky fingers, and even though he couldn't see it, he knew the wound was partially infected, painful, but healing.

 

“What—”

 

“Derek's bite...it's not strong enough,” Lydia whispered, fingers stroking over the center of his palm in a soothing manner.

 

Stiles snorted, close to tears himself. “You're telling me it's not going to work. That _she's_ going to be my Alpha,” he said, voice steadily rising.

 

“I'm sorry, Stiles. I should have told you.”

 

“Told me, _what_?” Stiles questioned, tired of being in the dark about everything.

 

“When it changed. When your future changed.”

 

Stiles threw himself backward against the mattress, hands covering his eyes. Stiles knew the others were present, could sense them, not as family, but as something foreign. That didn't stop the tears from welling, or spilling once the pressure had grown much too great. The anger manifested, and Stiles had the sudden urge to get up and run, get as far away from there as possible. Lydia tugged on his arm as he stood to his feet, body pulling him in every which direction.

 

“Stiles, wait!”

 

“I can't,” Stiles said, kicking a crate that had been substituted as a nightstand. “I _can't_!”

 

Stiles was hyperventilating, he knew, but couldn't stop it. Stiles attempted to run, to move faster than his body would allow, but it was hopeless. With every step, every unbalanced attempt to get further down the hallway, he came closer to the edge. Strong arms hooked under his, forcing him off his intended course. Stiles reared back, smashing the back of his head against Derek's upturned chin.

 

The two fought, Stiles throwing himself to the ground, taking Derek with him. Stiles could feel it, feel his bones beginning to shift, rearranging themselves. Derek took advantage of the situation, pinning the teen down, and digging his claws into Stiles' bicep in order to keep him from transforming completely. Pain was the only way to keep him anchored. The only way to keep him human.

 

“Listen to me,” Derek commanded, seeking something in Stiles that he could not offer.

 

“Get off me! This is all your fault, you _jerk_! Because of, because of you, I'm this! I belong to her now,” he nearly sobbed. This was all too much. The near death experience didn't matter. Derek not wanting him didn't matter. Stiles didn't want this; wouldn't accept it.

 

“ _Listen_ to me,” Derek growled, eyes tinged red.

 

“Listen to what? Huh, Derek? Listen to how you tried? You bit me as a last resort, and it _didn't_ even work!”

 

“I'm going to fix this, Stiles,” Derek spoke, hand a near death grip among Stiles' bare shoulder.

 

Stiles laughed, head thumping back against the wooden floor. “How?” he croaked. “How the hell do you expect to do that?”

 

Derek looked down at him, normally hard expression softening just barely. “I'm going to kill the Alpha, Stiles. I'm going to rip her throat out just like I did Peter's.”

 

“Peter didn't have others under his control. Gloria does.”

 

“Doesn't matter. She's dead. You're one of us.”

 

“No. I'm _not_. I'll never be one of you.”

 

_____

 

“Oh, wow. The Moon, how imaginative,” Jackson scorned, not pleased by the tarot card Lydia had placed before him.

 

“I don't get to chose them,” Lydia responded calmly. “ _You_ do.”

 

Derek had seen the card before. Two dogs at the Moon's whim, a crayfish left waiting, hidden in the water. Lydia had said the card was one of warning and of danger. Moonlight, it was said, was deceptive. All is not what it seems, and the crayfish waits for those who do not heed its warning.

 

Derek, while completely against Lydia's new foray, still felt a sense of unease at that card. The Moon's influence reigned over all of nature: the air, the sky, the Earth and the water; man, animals and fish. The water was both life and death, dew drops and streams of blood. Derek believed in the Moon, believed it held everything under its collective gaze, but it did not have the last say. He did.

 

It had only been our days after their run in with the other pack, and they were all, once again, under Derek's cracked and withered roof. Lydia sat Indian style on the floor, candles lit and melting all around her. Jackson sat in front of her, tossing the card back; angry. Allison spoke softly to Scott about how they could fill in the holes cratered into the walls, trying to be of help. And Stiles, Stiles sat unamused on the staircase, staring at nothing in particular, but listening in to everything.

 

The wolf, Derek knew, whispered and clawed underneath his skin. Derek; however, was impressed with Stiles' control, especially with the full Moon approaching again so soon. A series of candles went flying as Jackson's rage boiled over. Derek snapped out of his assessment to grip Jackson by the nape of his neck. There, Derek held him as Jackson cursed and ridiculed Lydia for changing into something unthinkable...unlikable.

 

“You're _weak_ and insecure,” he goaded. “Get a grip,” he added, tossing Jackson back.

 

Jackson snarled, aiming to get in Derek's face when, out of nowhere, Stiles attacked the other Beta. Everyone, including Derek, looked stunned as Stiles and Jackson moved to rip one another apart. “Make them stop!” Allison yelled as Scott shifted, meaning to intervene.

 

“ _Enough!_ ” Derek shouted, voice firm and well controlled. “We have other issues to worry about right now. Don't you feel it, Stiles? Your Alpha's calling to you. _She's_ here.”

 

Lydia clambered to her feet, looking out the window. “He's right. They're all here. Waiting,” she said.

 

“Lydia, you and Allison stay inside,” Derek instructed.

 

“We're _not_ weak! We can help,” Allison protested.

 

“I'm not saying you are. I'm using you as a second wave of defense. Go upstairs, Lydia spread the mountain ash along the top of the stairs and down the hallway. Allison, set up in the center bedroom, and _don't_ miss. When you're done, Lydia, grab a few of those flash grenades and cocktails, and use them. Got it?”

 

“They're going to be very sorry,” Lydia announced as she grabbed Allison by the arm, moving quickly up the stairs.

 

“Ready?” Derek asked, hand on the handle as they all prepared for what was to come.

 

“I'm going to kill her,” Stiles announced, eyes a menacing hazel.

 

“We'll see,” Derek responded, resided to the fact that he would be the one to take Gloria's life, not Stiles. Stiles wasn't to be human again. Stiles was destined to become a part of Derek's pack, and it was as true as it was selfish.

 

“Let's go,” he instructed.

 

Gloria stood with her hands on her hips. Matthew stood to her right, beard braided; and Emily stood to her left, natural hair pulled into a ponytail. They all looked soconfident. Derek felt the anger rise within him as red met red, and he stared Gloria down, but not into submission. Stiles' own rage soared, touching everyone who stood near him.

 

“You have somethin' that belongs to me. A soft, little Beta, yeah? Mouthy. I'll train him good.”

 

That was it. Derek snapped. Gloria appeared ready for him, claws tearing through his tee shirt, slicing through his flesh with ease. Derek, in a fit of rage, threw her to the ground. At this rate, they were going to take down the entire woods. Gloria was strong, maybe even strong than Peter, but Derek wasn't backing down.

 

Fire.

 

Gloria threw him five feet into a rather sturdy tree when the first cocktail came down. While it didn't catch anyone on fire, it was enough to deter them momentarily. In his frenzy, Matthew attacked Derek, and Derek hadn't been prepared for that. So preoccupied was he, that Derek had completely forgotten about the bond mated couples endured. Matthew moved on pure instinct, recognizing that Gloria was in trouble, but thankfully Stiles had enough sense and enough anger to launch an attack of his own.

 

Derek watched, faintly aware that Jackson was toying with the smallest and youngest werewolf, Emily. Scott was attending to Stiles, though Stiles appeared more than capable all on his own. Gloria pounced on Derek, ripping into his left arm with her jagged teeth. Derek threw her aside where she let out a pain-filled howl, shifting back into her human form. Derek didn't understand, he hadn't thrown her that hard. But when Derek looked over to his left, he saw what had wounded her so deeply. Stiles, beside himself and desperate, had killed Matthew.

 

David vs. Goliath. And David had won.

 

Derek's heart pounded within his chest. Jackson held Emily up, a silver tipped arrow embedded in her right shoulder. Scott laid in wait, and Stiles stared at him expectantly. “Don't do it,” he warned. “Derek.”

 

Derek looked down at the defeated woman, she posed no immediate threat, but he had to think long term here. Stiles wanted her, wanted to finish her himself so that he could be free of her. If Derek killed Gloria, stole her life, then Stiles would belong to him; to his pack. “Sorry,” he said, snapping Gloria's neck in one, swift motion.

 

For all that he was, he didn't want her to suffer.

 

Scott, now human, looked mortified. Derek had robbed them both of their humanity. Jackson pulled Emily up by her blood stained shirt. “What do we do with this one?” he asked.

 

“Lydia, clear the ash. Allison, remove the tip, dump out the remains and clean the wound,” Derek ordered, looking into the girls deep brown eyes.

 

“Welcome to the pack. You're the only one of your little friends left alive. Be _thankful_.”

 

Derek didn't want things to be that way, he really didn't. When humans were exposed to this part of being a werewolf, it was scarring. And though Derek had always been immersed in this, immersed in this world, it was still off putting. Yes; it may have been necessary, but it was not pleasant. If one found it so, then they subhuman and fully wolf, and that was not okay.

 

There were rules.

 

Jackson and Scott helped Emily inside. The pain must have been intense, but the she didn't even whimper. Stiles stayed behind, body perfectly still. Derek turned to face him. Blood covered and stained them both.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said before walking away. Stile's didn't follow. It was amazing how many times Derek had apologized to him. Derek didn't apologize to anyone, especially when what he had done was well within his right to do.

 

“You're amazingly hypocritical, you know?” Lydia spoke as she and Derek stood overlooking the the tree tops. Three hours had past, and all of them had worked together to wipe away the evidence of what had transpired. Gloria's and Matthew's bodies were disposed of, buried far from curious eyes. Allison had saved Emily's life, and she now rested on Derek's couch, healing. Scott stayed behind with Allison, but both Jackson and Stiles had left.

 

“You didn't want to turn him because you were afraid he would change, but when you had the opportunity to help him get his humanity back, you didn't. Unless he kills you, he'll never be human again. And you know, deep down, that he would never be able to do that. You _know_ he won't kill you. Stiles doesn't realize it yet, but he loves you, and it hurts him when you turn him away. It kills him a little more each time he doesn't think he's good enough.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“Emily, she's not bad. Quite intelligent, really,” Lydia said, changing the subject, but refusing to leave. She reused to be ignored. “A little awkward, but wouldn't you be in this sort of situation?”

 

“How did she come under Gloria's control?” Derek questioned, humoring her.

 

“Like Scott, she was attacked. They came from a small town in Arizona. Really small. She was looked down on for being mixed. Gloria fed on her loneliness. She promised her friends.”

 

“Do we want to keep her?”

 

“I think she needs us.”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

_____

 

Derek sat on the mattress that constituted as his bed. Soon, he would get a frame and other necessary items (Lydia would see to that), but he was in no hurry. Derek had no intentions of ever coming back to this house, as far as he had been concerned, Beacon Hills had been a dead and buried piece of history. The house, his house, was invaded, and the solitude he had so relished was now gone. Derek took a deep breath, all he could do was think of Stiles.

 

And that, that was not okay.

 

Stiles hadn't been seen since that night over a week ago. Derek had tried to find him, but Stiles had gotten relatively good at predicting Derek's tactics. Eventually, Derek relented. And everyday that dragged on brought a different headache. Derek was trying, but Jackson just appeared to be getting more aggressive, more severe.

 

Jackson was what got Derek thinking. Lydia had mentioned to him in private that she knew, that she had seen that Jackson would betray them. She had said that it would happen over time, but it would happen. It was one of the first visions she had ever experienced. Derek had brushed her off, but things were different now.

 

Jackson was still a handful.

 

Stiles had seen a happy future, one in which Derek hadn't ruined everything. Derek found this unsettling. If Stiles was able to attend college away from Beacon Hills, then it meant he hadn't been marked. Derek's head hurt, and as he moved to his feet, he knew he had to find Lydia. For better or worse, he had to know.

 

Derek found her in the guest bedroom, reading silently as Emily slept. Derek noticed the book she was reading was one of science and not of magic. Lydia noticed him long before he announced himself. She stood, checking on Emily one last time before joining him in the hall. She looked unsure, doubtful.

 

Maybe she though he would change his mind about what he wanted to ask her.

 

“Do I really need to say it? You already know.”

 

“It would be nice.”

 

Derek frowned. “I want to see my future, and if you don't show me, I'll kill you.”

 

“Such sweet words. You should be a poet. Really.”

 

“Just tell me what to do.”

 

“Honestly, I don't know if it'll work,” she said, fingers playing with the necklace she wore.

 

“What do you mean? Stiles did it, and he's Stiles.”

 

“Stiles also has an open mind.”

 

Derek's frown deepened. “I'm open minded.”

 

Lydia snorted at that. “You're also a werewolf. The spell can only be preformed on a full Moon.”

 

“I have no problem controlling myself on full Moon's.”

 

“But it'll be Stiles' first full Moon, and he's going to need you.”

 

“Scott will be able to handle him. He'll know what to do. I need to do this, okay?” Derek was desperate. And that desperation was what was driving him.

 

Lydia bit her lip. “Fine,” she wielded. “But whatever you see, you need to take seriously. You need to see it as truth.”

 

The next two days were spent preparing. Derek went over what Scott needed to do. When asked, Derek said it was due to the fact that Stiles trusted Scott more than him or Jackson. Derek left out the part that he would be in the woods, undergoing a ritual he had been completely opposed to. Scott didn't question him.

 

The ground was cold, even with the blanket beneath him. Winter was quickly making itself known. Derek could see his breath, but his hands did not shake as he held the mirror. The Moon was beautiful. When he was younger, less experienced, he hadn't been able to appreciate that.

 

Laura did. She loved the Moon, even found strength in it.

 

“Now focus on your question. Let all other thoughts drift away,” Lydia leveled.

 

Derek placed thoughts of his sister into a secure place in his mind. Instead, he found himself thinking of Stiles. Derek thought of the first time they had met. Derek hadn't liked him. Derek had seen Stiles as an object in his way.

 

Then he thought of how Stiles had helped him. And though it had been mostly against his will, Stiles had opted out of his one chance to play in a game; to make his dad proud. Stiles stood up for him when others accused him of killing his sister. Stiles brought him food when he thought Derek hadn't ate. Stiles researched for hours on end when he or the pack were in trouble.

 

Derek, against himself, smirked.

 

“Derek, concentrate.”

 

Derek huffed a sigh, delving deeper. 'What would happen if Stiles was my selected mate?' he asked himself, shutting his eyes as he felt disoriented.

 

“ _I wish you well as now we part. I follow what is in my heart. Each must walk our separate way. Our union is over this day,_ ” Lydia chanted, voice fading away.

 

Derek didn't like the lack of control over his body as it went limp. The heaviness of it all nearly took his breath away. Flesh torn from the bone. A bright light flashed before his eyes, leaving him in a stilled darkness. Derek stumbled, his insides burning as he tried not to throw up. When Derek next opened his eyes, he was standing outside of his house.

 

Or what appeared to be his house, anyway.

 

The Hale House was fully restored. Flowers were planted, and grass grew. The outside was painted a crisp white, black trim evening everything out. A detached garage held both his camaro and Stiles' jeep, the later freshly painted and well polished. Derek didn't know what to make of it all.

 

The front door opened, and Allison stepped out, a small child in her arms. “There you are!” she called out.

 

“Stiles is looking for you,” she expanded, moving towards her own vehicle. “Well, are you going to say goodbye? Alana won't leave until you do.”

 

Derek's feet moved of their own accord, bringing him to an older Allison and her child. Allison's hair was straightened, resting just below her shoulders. Alana, her daughter, had curly dark hair and intense blue eyes, like her grandfathers. “Sorry,” he apologized, smiling at the small bundle dressed warmly in a knitted cap and coat.

 

“Scott always says it's time to leave, but then he's the last one to go,” she complained. “We both have to be up early. I have my own tenth graders to deal with, and one of the other English teaches called out. Can you believe the lack of substitutes we have? And Scott has a golden retriever to operate on,” Allison said as Derek took to playing peek-a-boo with the two year old. The girl laughed and giggled, grabbing a hold of his pinky.

 

“Sorry, Allison! I was just getting something from Stiles!” Scott shouted, a cardboard box in his hand.

 

“What is it?” Allison questioned, securing Alana in her car seat.

 

Derek felt foreign, as though he were watching a movie.

 

Scott gave Allison a look. “You know I can't say,” he said, looking at Derek with a wink.

 

“Oh, something for the big day, then.” Allison smiled as she spoke.

 

Derek was simply confused. “What?”

 

Both Allison and Scott laughed. “Hello, your wedding? Try not to pretend like you're not curious what Stiles chose for his display.”

 

“Is it better than the watch?” Allison questioned, handing Alana her pacifier.

 

“Maybe,” Scott answered. “Probably.”

 

“What watch?”

 

“Are you okay, man? Did you hit your head or something? The watch. The pocket watch that Stiles gave to you. It was his grandfathers.”

 

“Oh, yeah. That watch. Means a lot to me,” Derek said, uncrossing his arms as he attempted to look casual and convincing. Stiles hadn't mentioned the watch belonged to his grandfather.

 

“All right, then. Talk to you guys later,” Scott said, patting Derek on the shoulder.

 

Derek waved goodbye, taken back as he turned to face the door. Did he really want to go in there? How long would Lydia permit him to stay? Derek moved forward, turning the knob, and allowing himself in. The inside was as beautiful, if not more, than the outside.

 

The stairs had been torn down and replaced. The walls were rebuilt and painted in a rich tope color. The living room was restored, two sofa's, a flat screen TV and large bookshelf filled to the brim decorated the large space. A wonderful smell brought Derek into the kitchen, and there he saw Stiles. Though Derek could only see the back of him, he knew Stiles was just as different as Scott and Allison.

 

Taller. Shoulders broader.

 

Stiles turned around, smile to his face. The length of his hair attracted Derek's attention, not necessarily long, but not cropped as short as it was in the present. “Hey, you gonna help with the dishes or what? I may look it, but I'm not a house wife,” Stiles chided, that same dopey grin adorning his features.

 

Derek closed the distance between them, kissing Stiles for what must have been the thousandth time, but was the first for him. Stiles, while caught off guard, kissed Derek back with equal force, arms lacing around Derek's neck. Derek backed Stiles up against the counter, mouth moving steadily from his lips to his jaw. Stiles groaned as Derek's tongue traced over his mark. Derek inhaled his scent deeply, it was true, they were mates.

 

“What's gotten into you? Is it my birthday?” Stiles asked cheekily, eyes playful.

 

“I don't know. Is it?”

 

“Derek, you sound serious. You know it's not.”

 

“I'm trying to make a joke,” he said, body heated.

 

“Not that again.” Stiles laughed, his warm breath ghosting over Derek's mouth.

 

Derek grinned, trailing his hands up under Stiles' shirt. Derek frowned when he felt along his chest. Derek removed Stiles' shirt as he studied the deep scars embedded in the younger mans flesh. Stiles noticed his staring, taking a hold of Derek's hand before kissing it. “It was a long time ago, Derek. I wish you would forget. Jackson's dead, there's nothing he can do to us now. I know we wish we could have gotten to Danny sooner, but there's nothing we could have done.”

 

Derek looked pained, and he wanted to ask why it hadn't healed, but refrained from doing so. Derek kissed Stiles again, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Why did I agree to marry you?” he asked jokingly, hoping Stiles would answer.

 

“Because we've been mated for two years, and my dad's old fashioned.”

 

“You graduated college two years ago? I can't believe it's been that long.”

 

“Yep. Hardware engineer at your service.”

 

“And Allison's an English teacher now.”

 

“Yep. And Scott's still interning to become a vet. Never mind the fact that cats hate him. And then there's Lydia, of course,” Stiles said, eyes saddened.

 

“Do you think she'll come to the wedding?” Derek questioned, hands settled on Stiles' hips, forehead resting against his as they just stood there, comfortable in each others embrace. It was weird, but it was also soothing. It was everything Derek had lost.

 

“I don't know. I think so. It'll be in the woods, away from everyone. She would be comfortable. Too bad Em's not going to be able to make it, but her mom comes first. Arizona's where she needs to be right now.”

 

Derek traced his thumb over Stiles' cheek, looking into his eyes. Derek realized then that they were in love. Upon this realization, Derek hoisted Stiles up onto the counter because he could, fingers dancing along his spine as he worked to bruise Stiles' mouth. Stiles groaned, fighting to remove both Derek's jacket and shirt from his body. Derek helped to move things along, throwing both materials somewhere behind him.

 

Apparently, Stiles wasn't the only one left scarred.

 

Derek was faintly aware of the scar that trailed down his midsection. Stiles' tongue licked at the mark he had made on Derek, causing the others breath to stutter, eyes slipping loosely shut as he worked to keep himself grounded. Stiles skimmed his teeth along Derek's collarbone, and he wished, wished that it would last. Stiles' hand reached in between their bodies, palming Derek through both the material of jeans and his boxers. Derek's head spun.

 

“Bed,” he ordered. “Now.”

 

Stiles merely wrapped his legs around Derek's waist. “Make me,” he said, licking away the wry smile that Derek wore.

 

Derek complied, carrying Stiles up the stairs with relative ease. Upon entering his bedroom, though, he had to stop and look around. The full length mirror, queen sized bed; it all screamed of Lydia's doing. Down to the rouge color and walk-in closet. Derek didn't think too in depth, couldn't really, not with Stiles splayed along the bed.

 

Willing and ready.

 

Derek leaned down, capturing Stiles' lips once again as the other clung helplessly to him. Crawling over top of Stiles, Derek could feel the heat emitted between them. Their scents intermingled, and Derek almost couldn't concentrate. The need, the drive, to be with him, among his collective gaze was a feeling he had never experienced before. Derek licked a strip up the side of Stiles' neck as Stiles worked to get his pants off.

 

“You look really hot right now. You should see yourself,” Stiles mentioned, head nodding towards the mirror behind Derek.

 

Derek turned, and while there wasn't an obvious difference in his appearance, there were still a few. The scar across his torso was new. Derek noted he was clean shaven, and his signature rumpled hair was slightly slicked back. Derek watched as Stiles' hands ran down along his chest, smoothing over the flat of his stomach as his thumbs hooked under the elastic band of Derek's briefs. Derek covered one of Stiles' hands with his own, lacing their fingers together as Stiles placed open mouthed kisses along his back.

 

Derek should not have closed his eyes.

 

 

 

“Derek. Derek, time to wake up.” Lydia's voice startled him, jolting him back into the present.

 

Derek sat up, his eyes wide and heart racing. Steadily, he ran his fingers along the flesh of his neck, but there was no mark to be found. Derek caught his breath, the world around him coming into focus once more. Lydia looked down at him, eyes sweeping over his face, making sure he was all right. Derek's heart refused to settle completely.

 

“What did you see?” she questioned, voice unusually soft.

 

Derek looked up at her, a cross between confusion and shock. “Us,” he answered. “I saw us.”

 

“After Stiles came home from college?”

 

“Yeah. The house...it was together again. It didn't feel like death. It felt comfortable, like home. Allison and Scott, they had a baby. They were married, she wore a ring. I was planning on getting married,” he rambled quickly, completely unlike himself. “Scott and Allison were helping us. That girl, the redhead, was back in Arizona. Stiles said her mom was sick. Stiles...he had deep scars, deep scars across his chest. Me, too. Jackson did it. He attacked us. He killed Danny. You were living somewhere in the woods. Stiles was trying to convince you to come to the ceremony.”

 

Lydia absorbed that information, no doubt saving it. “Do you accept it?” she asked.

 

“Accept, what?”

 

“Stiles as your mate.”

 

Derek, though hesitant, nodded his consent. “Yes.”

 

_____

 

The first full Moon Stiles had to endure, hadn't gone as poorly as he thought it would. Scott, who had gotten better at controlling himself, was able to talk Stiles through everything. Derek had given Scott orders to look after him, and Scott had. With or without Derek's command, Scott would not have left Stiles on his own. The first time Stiles had transformed, he completely freaked out.

 

Who wouldn't?

 

Stiles made it through; however, and that's what counted. The next morning, when Stiles' throat was dry and raw, Scott gave him three bottles of water. And the two did what they hadn't done in a long time, they talked. “You might not think so, Stiles, but Derek's really impressed. You did what none of us could do,” he said, spread out on Stiles' bed like it was his own.

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Stiles falsely said, typing away on his computer, looking up recipes that were way beyond his current cooking skill. Which rested neatly at zero.

 

“You know you do. You killed that guy, and in, like, three seconds! You're stronger than both me and Jackson combined, even if Jackson won't admit it. Derek sees it. Probably one of the reasons he killed Gloria.”

 

“And you're okay with that? You're okay with you and me being stuck under his control?” Stiles inquired, voice raised.

 

“What can we do about it? You really want to kill Derek? We need him, and while he's an ass, he treats us well. He takes care of us.”

 

Stiles knew Scott was right, but he didn't have to acknowledge that fact. “What are you and Allison going to do if you can't find a cure?” he asked.

 

“I don't know. If we're still together, she says it won't matter. She won't leave me over something I can't control, and as long as I don't become some human chomping monster, it won't be a problem. I think she's less bothered by it than I am, but it's not all bad. I mean, my asthma's gone, and I'm really awesome at sports now.”

 

“You might have a point. _Might_. I mean, running faster, being stronger, it's pretty damn amazing. I can smell what's for lunch before the lunch lady even knows. It's not being a werewolf that bothers me.”

 

“It's Derek.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But when is it not Derek? I know he didn't want to turn you, but maybe it didn't have anything to do with you not being good enough.”

 

“Then would could it have been? Huh, Scott?”

 

“I don't know. When Derek bit you, it wasn't out of spite or a last resort, he was afraid. I could sense it. I've never seen Derek generally afraid before. I've seen him pissed, I've seen him vengeful, but never afraid.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, I think he was trying to do the right thing. I think he still is, but he's not foolproof, bro. He's new to this whole leader thing, too. We're all still trying to figure it out.”

 

That conversation still rolled around in his head, even as he attempted to focus on the task at hand. And at the moment, that task was getting dinner on the table before his dad had to leave for work. “Stiles, since when do you cook?” Sheriff Stilinski asked.

 

“Since twenty minutes ago? And it's not cooking. Defrosting a pizza and putting it in the oven _is so not_ cooking.”

 

“It's more than what you've ever done in your whole life. I had to buy that microwavable mac and cheese because you said boiling water was too much work.”

 

“Dad, please. People change.”

 

“I guess,” he laughed. “It's been nice spending time with you, Stiles, but I've got to ask. Are you all right?”

 

Stiles looked at his dad, he had been spending a lot of time with him instead of getting into things like he normally would with Scott. Admittedly, while Stiles had been focused on his issues with Derek and being a werewolf, he had forgotten what mattered most in his life: Family. So Stiles had spent the last week and a half attempting to make it up to his dad. While the sheriff appreciated that, it was completely normal for him to be highly suspicious. The oven beeped, and as Stiles opened the heated door, he was glad to see that the pizza hadn't been burned.

 

It was; however, still frozen in the center.

 

“Oh, we should give it a few more minutes,” he said, realizing he hadn't answered his dads question. “I'm okay, dad. I just...miss talking to you, I guess. I mean, soon I'll be in college, and you'll be dating, um, all sorts of—eligible , age appropriate, maybe even parent herself—young lady. Got to get all the father and son bonding in while we still can, right?”

 

“I guess so. If you look at it that way.”

 

“Exactly,” Stiles said, nearly burning his hand as he forgot to put back on the oven mitts he had taken off.

 

While it was only four in the afternoon, Stiles' dad would be leaving soon, and Stiles himself was obscenely hungry. “Look, it's neither frozen nor burnt,” he proudly proclaimed.

 

Sheriff Stilinski looked skeptical, but took a slice of pizza anyway. Stiles went to sit down when a knock came to the door. A frown formed on his face as Stiles ambled to answer it. There were endless possibilities as to who it could be on the other side, but of the endless possibilities, Stiles most certainly wasn't expecting it to be Danny. And as he looked at Stiles with a sort of friendly expression, and waved, Stiles figured he might need to do or say something in return.

 

“Um, hey Danny,” he greeted.

 

“Hi, Stiles,” Danny returned, motioning to be let in.

 

“Oh, right. Hey, dad! Danny's here,” Stiles announced, still somewhat caught off guard.

 

“Don't mind me. I'm just eating,” he said, waving hello. Stiles' dad liked Danny and his family, said he was a good kid from a good home.

 

Danny and Stiles made their way upstairs, and once in Stiles' room, he shut his door. “Look, if this is about our project, it's been over a week! And I made it up, and we got a B, and I'm not really A material,” he said quickly, never doubting his lack of luck.

 

Danny laughed at him, a little insecure. “I'm not here for that,” he clarified.

 

“Oh,” Stiles said, surprised. “Then what are you here for?”

 

“Jackson.”

 

Stiles' head coked to the side, brows lifted. “ _Oh_ ,” he said.

 

“He's been acting really weird lately.”

 

“Um, you know Jackson better than I do. Explain weird.”

 

Danny sat down on Stiles' bed, hands smoothing down the front of his jeans. “I don't even know how to explain it. I mean, I know he's a jerk. He's my best friend, and even I know he's a jerk, but...lately he's been worse, somehow. He climbed in through my window, and put his fist through my wall when I told him he couldn't stay,” Danny explained, looking down and away. There was something else he wasn't saying.

 

“Danny, what else?” he pressed.

 

“Look, I know Jackson can be cruel sometimes, okay? He really can be, but I also know he hates himself more than anyone or anything. I mean, his parents love him, they would buy him the world if that's what he wanted, but it's never been enough for him. Because somewhere, someone gave him up for adoption. I always tell him that maybe his biological mom didn't have a choice. Maybe she was young or didn't have the means to take care of him. She might have died, who knows? It was a private adoption. But the fact that he thinks he's not good enough for her drives him to look better, _be_ better than everyone else. It's his only validation, and that was okay. I was always okay with Jackson expressing that to me...”

 

“But?”

 

Danny shook his head, hands balling into fists. “But he came over to my house drunk. I told him he couldn't stay, not like that. I offered to drive him home, but I don't like it when he's like that. I told him I would talk to him in the morning.” Danny trembled, anger building. “He pushed me against the wall, and shoved his tongue in my mouth, and I had a lot of trouble getting him off me. He had done it once before, our freshman year, and I had decked him in the face and told him I wasn't the token gay kid he could molest when he felt lonely. This time was different, he was stronger, and I could tell he wasn't sorry for what he did. Not like that one time. That one time, he hated himself. He grabbed me by my neck, and whispered into my ear that if he wanted to, he could kill me or my parents. Take away from me what he never had.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Danny! _Jesus_ , are you serious? Of course you are!”

 

“I've never been afraid of him before, but I was, and I am. And I know that he's spending more time with you and Scott lately than anybody else. Do you know what this could be?” Danny asked, hoping for an answer that would ease his mind.

 

Stiles didn't understand how this could have happened. How Jackson could do something like that to Danny, to anyone ever. “Danny, I don't know, but I swear to you, I'll find out. I'll make him pay. I'll make it all right,” he promised.

 

Danny stood, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder. “You don't have to solve my problems for me, Stiles. I just wanted your insight,” he confirmed.

 

“No. No,” Stiles said. “Jackson's not above this. He'll have to answer for this. My dad's a sheriff.”

 

“Stiles, no. Don't get your dad involved.”

 

Stiles' reply was interrupted by his father shouting his name. “Yeah, dad?” he shouted back.

 

“You're apparently popular today,” he added, and Stiles frowned.

 

“Danny, I'll be right back. Whoever is at the front door, I'll send them away.” Stiles moved quickly down the stairs, skipping two at a time. Stiles' mouth fell open at the sight of Derek Hale standing in the middle of his kitchen, _with_ his dad.

 

Sheriff Stilinski looked equally as surprised, but his gun was holstered, so that was a plus. “Derek's here, and he's reassured me that he's not a serial killer on the prowl for his latest victim. He also says you two know each other.”

 

“Surprise,” Stiles said demurely.

 

“I'm going to work. When I come back, I expect my house to be intact and my son to be alive. Are we all clear here?” Sheriff Stilinski questioned.

 

Derek nodded his head, and stiles barely muttered a yes. Stiles' dad had barely pulled out of the drive when Stiles stared heatedly at Derek, face contorted as he fought the urge to kill him. When Derek had learned to use a door was beyond Stiles, and showing up while his dad was still there was also too much for Stiles' brain to comprehend, but he had bigger problems. Danny, for one.

 

“What do you think you're doing here. Never mind. I'm sure you won't tell me. Danny's upstairs. Jackson,” Stiles said, looking around before lowering his voice. “Jackson attacked him last night.”

 

Whatever Derek had been prepared to say quickly died on his lips. “What?”

 

“Jackson went to Danny's house in the middle of the night. Drunk. Danny told him to leave, and Jackson attacked him. When Danny finally got him off of him, Jackson put his fist through the wall and threatened to kill his parents. Derek, this is serious,” Stiles explained.

 

“Was he shifted?”

 

“No. He was just off.”

 

Derek gripped Stiles by the forearm, grip reassuring instead of threatening, and that was unexpected. “Whatever you do, don't allow Danny alone with Jackson.”

 

“What?”

 

“Trust me on this one,” Derek said, moving up the stairs with much speed.

 

“Derek, wait!”

 

Stiles was too late, Derek was already in his bedroom, invading Danny's personal space like the creeper he was. “Whatever you do, avoid Jackson at all cost,” he said, speaking like he had any authority of what Danny did or didn't do.

 

“You told him?”

 

“I had not choice,” Stiles attempted to explain, looking absolutely miserable.

 

“To be safe, you need to do it. I know he's your friend, but your life it more important.”

 

“My life? Who the hell are you?”

 

“Derek. He's Derek Hale. I lied about him being my cousin.”

 

“Derek Hale? Like, the murderer Derek Hale?”

 

“He's not a murderer!” Stiles intervened. “He's innocent, okay. He would never hurt his sister, and that was all a big misunderstanding. But Scott, Jackson and me...we sort of help him out from time to time. You said you wanted to know what changed. Well, the only person who would know is Derek.”

 

Danny appeared upset and confused, and Stiles wasn't better off. “You won't tell anyone?” he questioned, looking at both Derek and Stiles with pleading eyes. After all Jackson had done, and Danny still cared about him. Still wanted to protect the person he thought, maybe even knew, Jackson to be.

 

“Your secret's our secret. We won't say a word, but you need to trust us. Okay?” Stiles said.

 

Danny shook his head. “All right,” he said as he made a lone exit.

 

 

 

 

“You want to tell me what you're doing in my house? Since when do you use a door? And with my dad here? Now he knows we know each other.”

 

“And no harm will ever come to him, so you don't have to worry.”

 

Stiles stopped his pacing. With skeptical eyes, he peered down at Derek who took to sitting on his bed, eating Stiles' now cold pizza. “What?”

 

“What, what?” Derek inquired, acting as though he hadn't said something profound.

 

“Why'd you say that about my dad?”

 

“Because it's true, Stiles. When you go off to college or whatever, he'll be looked after until you return.”

 

“Don't you mean 'if' I go to college?”

 

“No. I mean when. We both know you will.”

 

Stiles stalled again, making eye contact with Derek. “There's something you're not telling me,” he said, snatching the pizza out of Derek's hand, and eating the rest of it. Derek glared, but that was the extent of it. “Is this some sort of pack thing?” Stiles asked, perplexed.

 

Derek chuckled, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. It was distracting, to say the least. “Sort of,” he answered.

 

“Derek—”

 

“Stiles, I need you to sit down. Where, I don't care, but I need you to.”

 

Stiles didn't know what to think about that. Selecting his computer chair, Stiles sat down, knee bouncing. Derek faced him, producing a wooden box that was quickly rotting through. Derek appeared reminiscent, fingers tracing along the edges. When Derek met his gaze, Stiles could see the overwhelming sadness that lingered there.

 

“When I was little, my sister was obsessed with the Moon. She looked at it as a guide to the world when it was left in the dark. I never, I never got it. I hated looking at the damn thing. I hated the power it had over me, but Laura didn't see it that way. And she was obsessed with Moon flowers. They only blossom in the Moonlight, and she found them amazing. She would sketch them in her journal, dry them out and place them on random pages as a sort of surprise,” he explained, opening the box, and revealing a leather bound journal. Stiles realized it much have been Derek's sisters. “It's the only thing of hers I have left, and I want you to have it.”

 

Stiles' knee stilled. “You can't be serious.”

 

“I can, and I am.”

 

“I can't take you sisters journal! It's the only thing you have left, you just said so yourself!”

 

“Just like your grandfathers watch?” Derek shot back.

 

“Did Scott tell you that?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then how would you know that?”

 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Because I saw it,” he answered.

 

Stiles paused. “You... _saw_ it?”

 

“Yes, you idiot. Lydia showed me.”

 

“Showed you that it was my grandfathers watch?”

 

“Scott told me, sort of. I chose it as a display piece.”

 

“A display piece for what? Be more specific!”

 

“You just have to see,” Derek said with a smirk, standing to his feet.

 

“Oh, no,” Stiles said, blocking the door with his body. “You're not getting away that easily.”

 

Instead of threatening him as was per usual, Derek pinned Stiles flat against the smooth surface, tilting his head to the side and kissing him, short and quick and utterly amazing. “That was...a kiss. You kissed me,” Stiles spoke, dumbfounded.

 

“Wish I could say it was the first time I kissed you. I sort of cheated,” Derek admitted.

 

“You son of a...that makes so much sense now,” Stiles said, mind relaying every bit of previous information it had.

 

“What makes sense?”

 

“Somewhere down the road, my dad knows I'm a werewolf, and apparently dating you,” he elaborated. “Wait? Do you want to date me?” he asked, suddenly aware of himself.

 

“For the moment,” Derek reasoned. “Eventually, something more permanent will have to do.”

 

Derek was still crowding Stiles up against his door, and while that was very tempting, he had one last question for him. Hopefully. “Why didn't you want to change me? When I asked, why did you resist? Why did it have to come down to Gloria?”

 

Derek looked at him headily, but Stiles wouldn't relent, not until he got an answer. “I didn't want you to think like me. Be like me. But when I had the chance to let you go, I couldn't do it.”

 

“Possessive jerk.”

 

“It's more than that, Stiles. It's instinct. I knew, before I even realized, what you were. What you had the potential to be.”

 

“So, this is really happening, huh? This is our future?” he pondered out loud.

 

“I think it always has been. Lydia just had a messed up way of making sure it happened.”

 

“I really wouldn't be surprised,” Stiles said. Lydia might have been different, but she was still a genius, and a lot smarter than all of them.

 

“I have something I need to know,” Derek said, voice startling Stiles after such a long moment of silence.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“When's your birthday?”

 

______

 

“Lydia. Lydia.”

 

Lydia heard a soft voice call to her, pulling her from her resting state. Lydia opened her eyes to see Emily positioned above her. Lydia sat up, looking outside, she could see that day had given way to night. Wiping at her sleep-filled eyes, Lydia draped her cloak over her shoulders. She had much to do, and only this night to do it.

 

“Are ya sure ya want to go out there? It's a full Moon, all of us are inside or the night.”

 

“It's the best time to do what I need done,” Lydia explained, looking at Emily with a curiosity that only grew with each day that past. “Are you sure you want to stay here in Beacon Hills?”

 

“There ain't nothin' back home for me,” Emily answered, pulling the blanket Allison had given to her closer to her body.

 

“Are you sure? What about your family?”

 

“I've only got my mama left, and she don't want nothin' to do with me.”

 

“What if she were to get sick?”

 

“She's a tough woman. Beaten cancer twice in her life.”

 

Lydia grimaced, but kept her face turned from the girl she had grown close to. “Think about it. She might need you more than you think, even if it's a simple hello.”

 

Lydia tread deep within the woods, lantern guiding her journey. She moved further than she ever had before. A crows calling the only noise to grace her ears. “Poe, I almost though you weren't coming,” she greeted.

 

“Did I tell you? I finally slept through the night. No nightmares. Derek saw what I couldn't,” she explained, feet covering soft ground, fertile soil. “And I'm happy, Poe. I really am. They'll survive. When Jackson betrays them, they will all make it. And through Stiles' stubbornness, Danny will as well. The future will shift and change, but the essentials are still in place,” Lydia spoke, relieved by her own musings. “I know I'll never be free of this, whatever Peter left me as, but I can use it.”

 

Lydia smiled happily as she looked out over the clearing. Moon flowers bending on a whim. The Moon pulled and baited them, and Lydia knew this was where she was meant to be. “Very nice work, Laura. It's beautiful. I'm sure he'll love it just as much as you did when it's his time to know about it.”

 

Lydia sat amongst the flowers, conversing with them late into the night. She felt sad when it came to Jackson, a part of her still loved and cared for him deeply. But Jackson's downfall was necessary in order for their pack to survive and come out stronger. And there were some things, no matter how painful and disheartening, you simply could not alter. And you didn't need added insight to know as such.

 

The full Moon lingered high in the sky for all to see. Whether you were star-crossed lovers trying to find a place in this world together, or a couple just starting out; whether you were a young man mourning the loss of a friendship you both loved and cherished; whether you were a father learning to accept your son for all that he was and afraid to experience the love you had newly found; whether you were a girl lost in a different world trying to adapt; whether you were a troubled star, battling your innermost demons, knowing that you would lose in the end; you could look up at the illuminated orb in the night sky, and find hope. And in this world, hope was the greatest of strengths one could posses. For without it, despair took over, and wars were lost; ideals forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

_Art thou pale for weariness_

_Of climbing heaven and gazing on the Earth,_

_Wandering compainionless_

_Among the stars that have a different birth,_

_And ever changing like a joyless eye_

_That finds no object worth its constancy?_

 

**-Percy Bysshe Shelly**

**Author's Note:**

> This all stemmed from a book I read on the Moon. So, it came as a surprise how fully this formed. Also, first contribution to the Teen Wolf fandom, and the longest fic I've written to date.


End file.
